


this is a song about somebody else / truth is like blood underneath your fingernails

by mestariteos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Sam-Centric, Wincest if you squint, not sure if this is a wip or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 12:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18894238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mestariteos/pseuds/mestariteos
Summary: sam thinks about his concept of home, or lack of.title from 'looking too closely' by fink.





	this is a song about somebody else / truth is like blood underneath your fingernails

and there it is again, that question.

_where’re you boys from?_

always said so casually, like there can only be one answer and that answer must be right. the one truth. and for dean, there _was_ only one answer – easy, rolling off his tongue out his lips into the world: lawrence, kansas. two words, four syllables, easy peasy. done and dusted. because for dean, that is where he’s from; his roots will always lead there, to that two-storey house with a mother and a father that loved them and no rock salt in the boot of their car. his origins, his home.

but for sam, that answer was a little more complicated. 

he’d never had that – or, not long enough for it to matter. the only thing in that house was blood and fire, the sorrow in his father and his brother that he could never understand; that divide. 

sometimes, though, he thinks dean might understand. those nights when they’re in between jobs and motels and they take a six pack and go sit on the hood of the impala and watch the stars, ignorant of angels and heaven and all that’s above (not below; they can never ignore what’s below). what had chuck written in those goddamned books? “they could go anywhere and do anything... and when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars... for hours, without saying a word. it never occurred to them that, sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls... but they were never, in fact, homeless.”

and wasn’t that just the truth? the only true answer to that question was _here. here, with my brother and his car. here, wherever he is. here, here, here._

and that was all he needed, really. nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> turns out to get back into writing supernatural fic all you need to do is listen to one (1) southern gothic song
> 
> not sure if i'm done with this or not. might expand on it later?


End file.
